


A Demon of Many Things

by GENE5I5



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lesson 16 (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) Spoilers, Light Angst, Not super Graphic, POV Second Person, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but yknow, never been good with tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GENE5I5/pseuds/GENE5I5
Summary: Mammon is a demon of many things, but so is love, he is learning.
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 129





	A Demon of Many Things

**Author's Note:**

> many thoughts have been thunk about mammon and i've came to the conclusion that i am absolutely smitten with him.

A demon who goes by many names -- the Prince of Greed, the obnoxious, money-grubbing brother, the Moron of Gold, were few of many. But the names you exchanged in each other's ears never held the same vindication.

Rather, they were love-laced secrets, whispers of affirmation; a humming dance, a language made for two, invented together.

A demon who becomes so bashful when you utter the word "cute" to him. His crimson reaction deepens to prolong that teasing smile of yours.

One who noisily, yet so terribly, rejected the lovey-dovey doodle of you and him in the corner of his paper that he may, or may not, have drawn in the midst of a droning lecture. A demon who puffs his chest beyond the horizon and falters under your gaze and touch at the drop of a needle.

A demon who loves inconsiderately, arrogantly, clumsily. Unapologetic and hard-hitting, with blunders and faults. A dog's bite bound on a bone, unrelenting. One who can’t keep his love-grubbing paws off you. It causes whiplash when it overwhelms him, roar with a thousand lions, his untamed heart would.

But in the quiet of your room, it can be as light as the sun staggering through the trees. Gentle like the clinks of silverware on fine china.

Innocent, the twitches of his pinky are when your hand rests next to his. Greedy, but innocent.

Awkward like a tall child, but never would his ferocity ever grow old. A sporadic child, leaping, skipping and running with muddy shoes. Seized by a restlessness that only encourages him. Trip on excited feet, scrape a knee, learn a lesson and grow, his young heart would.

Awkward like a timid child. But accidental, his love would never be. Not like unintentional stuttering nor rash statements, habits he's grown with.

Instead, there is always a purpose, he's made sure. Despite some -- many -- reasons being born from impulse, in the heat of his mind though, it clicks.

A demon who held his calloused hands with yours ever so gently, seeing the small nicks and scratches you accumulated on your hands. His lips brush over the valley of your knuckles, leaving butterfly cures on the faint scratches.

Bashfully, but earnestly, he warns, "Be careful, I don't wanna see my human hurt."

Even when you reassure him that humans just get random cuts and blemishes on their skin, he only stares at your hands.

"Even if, you're just fragile. Compared to us, y'know?"

Shaking your head, you claim you're stronger than what he gives you credit for. You miss the inkling of regret that passes through his eyes.

His gaze locks with yours, confessing quietly, "I know. But I dunno what I would do if somethin' happened to ya."

 _Not again,_ it dances at the tip of his tongue.

The sincere message weaved in his unique dialect only brings a smile to your face. And in the same breath, he recovers from his sentimental state, "But ya better not go and tell any of my brothers I told ya that!" Your hands are replaced by his hips.

"If ya do, I'll do unspeakable things! I ain’t as soft as ya think," his flushed face taunts.

And you can only give a playful pout, knowing his words never held, nor ever will hold, any true malice.

A demon who strung ill-fitting sentences at the most inappropriate of times, but you knew his intentions were in the right place.

A demon who can't mask his honest emotions behind his features, but allows the many faces of confusion and embarrassment, of anguish and of bliss seep through. One who eagerly follows you, as eager as the Devildom nightlife lights blinking behind when you shared your first kiss.

A demon with a laugh and a heart as golden as the valued card held between his fingers in one hand, while the other was securely interlocked with yours. The heart he shows you, and only you.

A demon who would flash you a sheepish grin and throw some half-assed excuse when you catch him indulging in his sin, being his true self.

But he's trying, genuinely, to lessen his habits for your sake.

Late-night betting exchanged for longer embraces in your bed at the dead of night. The high-energy extravagance of the casino, where its walls held a heavy musk of smoke and grime, replaced with giggling movie nights under a shared blanket, where his nose has found solace in the scent of your hair. Burning lungs traded for a warm kindle.

He redirects his greed and needs to you. _More_ , his hungry heart would cry, more of you, more from you; more kisses to know that he's wanted, more squeezes to make sure he's real. Wanting more, more, more of you, you, and only you.

He is a demon, after all, and old habits die much harder.

Not die, no -- sin can never truly die. Instead, it bubbles, rearing its head through the surface from time to time. Turn downpour into drizzle, continuously scab over an inconsolable wound.

Even if he feels soft in your palms, his insatiable greed only ignites him when your warmth grows cold. 

But you knew you had no place to crucify him for acting on his instincts, for him to adhere to his nature. You can't fault a crow for picking shiny objects. You can't blame fruit flies that hover over the sweetest.

As you are human, your nature tends to involve falling in love with the most beautiful things. With the most tragic and flawed, bearing a blind eye to some of the most glaring differences in order to appreciate the golden moments.

A demon who has learned to enjoy the unsung beauties in nature and in life. Like how your humming of a song from the human realm has become an eternal song of the divine. How your pinky latches onto his in the shape of a promise is ever so gentle and innocent. Penitence is near, he believes from the sensation of your skin.

Shiny, your eyes remind him. Shiny, like his rings that cool your cupped face on a particularly hot day. The way you nuzzle your face in his palms has him burning for two.

Soft, your cheeks remind him. Soft, like the ache washing over when he glances at the empty mattress that dipped in your shape beside him. When his hand grasps at its surface, he still feels your warmth. It washes over again, a little more firmer.

And it only continues to grow harder, little does he know.

One who has learned to bask in the feeling of freshness. Like freshly-trimmed hair or the soft blow of a quiet fan, like the smile you show him, and only him.

A demon who has learned that love humiliates its bearer. It teases and tugs, laughing at how one stumbles and stutters from a few words.

It can push you on stage in front of a crowd, but it can also blend you and your lover's shadows underneath a tree, sheltered from civilization. Have you as needy as the waves who rush toward the shore with frothy tears, or as bitter as the blood from your tooth-bitten tongue.

Simply a timing test to see how long it'll take for one to be engulfed in its red, tingling ardour. It just so happens to also be one of the only tests that Mammon aces in record time.

And you managed to fall for a demon who held you through sickness and through health. Who will hold you through the most rough times and through old age, night and day. And there's a pinch; an awareness of how you were, will never be able to do the same for him.

But it's faint, that pinch is, like a subdued reverb.

Your manifestation of love never ceases, as it is one that transcends flesh and blood. Beyond time and space, as you remain with him and before him. Souls bound before the moon first greeted the water, before mythologies were invented, and before the mumbles, croaks, and hums of beings were ever uttered.

And he is a demon who experiences eternity. One who is aware about the excruciating limit of your togetherness. But he ignores this.

Love is a losing game, he knows. And he's gambled and gambled, betting on losing dogs despite the obvious results. Hopes for potentially rigging it pours more fuel to the fire.

But eventually, there will always be a loser or two, he knows. He ignores this, as his greed pulls him to his feet and has him watch the race that only loops.

He tunes out their warnings, dismisses the inevitable. Because what is an eternity but an afterthought to a demon who has his head on your lap as you comb through his hair? What is it to a being who has memorized every inch of the infinity of your face? And who can pinpoint every part of your body, knowing where to listen for your still-beating heart?

When jabs and disappointment from his brothers plague his mind, he finds comfort in your arms that lull those words to sleep.

"You're warm," muttering into his skin, your breath tickles. He's certain he knows what love is.

Each peppered kiss in replacement of falling stardust. Legs tangled for every lost embrace underneath the comforter. Each mumbled confession acting as a comforting lullaby. He's certain he knows where home is.

And he is a demon whose heart is the first to rejoice when it feels you stir awake beside him. His lips are next when the distinct taste of dawn is exchanged; he wipes away the morning stars that litter your eyes.

Stretching, reaching for the fresh air, your bones shout to greet the world. And he smiles, his sun is alive and he's happy to be.

A demon who stays true to his sin. He is the ruler of greed who knows he will remain insatiable. Ache, his fierce hunger makes him. _But please_ , he would think, _stay with me_.

 _While the feeling lasts_ , he squeezes your hand in your sleep. _I want everything to give you my all_ , a skipping heart jolts him awake when you respond to his text.

 _Take as you please,_ he lingers at the doorframe as your conversation ends. _As long as you're by my side a little longer._

His whole existence may be born of sin -- but it's okay, you help him learn.

He's not rotten, not a heretic nor rapacious. Not a fool or scum, not if it's for you.

A demon who was the first one to take care of you, the first to hold you like it's the end of the world. Who tends to your wounds, who you developed an unspoken bond with.

And you were his first, the first to be met with a buzzing Mammon when something great happens to him. And the first to be informed when he has successfully ~~conned a sucker~~ passed a class, despite teetering on the edge of failing. Passed, nonetheless, and he's as smug as ever.

The first to patiently listen as he opened his heart in return, to feel his love radiate as soon as you walked into the room. Who made him actually feel seen.

A demon who knows he's luckier than most demons, intoxicated with the thrill of loving you. Luckier than finding an abandoned pile of Grimm at the casino, more prized than the lottery itself and all the treasures combined.

Love can spit on you, he understands when he sees your body on the floor, limp from the enraged hands of his younger brother. Cause strings to screech in dissonance in your ears alone. Absent of color, cold in his arms despite the shaky pleas and desperate, futile attempts to transfer every drop of his warmth to you. Burn.

Torment and eat you raw.

Yet, it can simultaneously cradle you, he realizes as soon as he sees your face, alive -- horrified and confused but alive -- and staring at the body who was once you, clutched in his trembling arms. Invigorate your endurance and strength, keep your feet running. He scrambles to you, to feel if you're real, to secure you in his heart.

Rebirth you into a new being.

It's hard work -- he scrubs the counters of Hell's Kitchen as punishment after being caught in his shenanigans for the umpteenth time -- to love. Hastily grabbing used plates causes some to chip; he's tuning out another scolding.

It's dirty work, the familiar smell of grime is stronger than usual when he strolls into the casino. Sauntering to his usual spot, the dealer eyes the demon whose hand is tucked in his pocket.

Cringing at the musk that clings to his ruffled clothes, he thinks about how to explain himself out of this one. Hoisting himself to his feet and patting his jeans free of dust, the pain in his ass begins to throb. They never were kind to their regulars, though he could have been the only exception. Bending to snatch his faulty die, he growls at the casino with a string of annoyed curses before trudging back home.

The throb is unrelenting, but he counts the steps it takes to see you again to distract him.

But it's honest work, he wishes he could bottle the pure feeling of seeing your face brighten from his present. It makes one honest. Tattoo your essence into his veins, he wishes he could.

A demon who hasn't shut that loud mouth of his since you last kissed it.

Save for when your foreheads touch. Nose brushing against the other's and his breathing all but stops. That softness washes over again.

It is then the world spins fast, rendering him too dizzy to speak, to think.

You kiss that soft motor again as a bargain for silence, despite knowing it won't last a minute.

And again, to taste the remains of a cream puff he's shoved into his mouth.

And again, to relive that sticky sensation.

Possession and love, these ideas tend to be scrambled in his mind. He's learning to understand the differences while you learn that love is a waiting game.

Prodding at patience as he pulls your arm when you drift with another.

Pick at scabs when you recieve a text, explaining that he'll be late for your date due to some "unfinished business" he's tangled in. A text he should have sent half an hour ago at the start of your agreed meeting time.

Plant seeds of doubt when your ears ring with his words of denial and arrogance to passersby.

Yet, it devours those seeds and replaces them with comfort as he crawls back into your arms. Without fail, like the worry that breeds for you when an inkling of danger arises.

Bubble your chest with laughter when you see him lit aflame after your confession of love. Natural, you feel, like the way his infatuation for you spreads.

Tickle your heart while he stammers out his in return. Certain, he is, like how your lips press onto his forehead.

It's for patient gardeners. It pushes against its shell, aching to break free from its bubble. Budging and nudging; it takes time, you learn.

Until it's greeted by warmth; taking root in the empathy of nature. Nourished by light from the sun and encouraged by reassuring pitter-patter of the clouds.

But, often he feels that the ground will collapse beneath and he will be pulled under. Yes, the Devildom is the Underworld, and your being in it is his proof.

In your wake, every gaze, touch, laugh, word cause typhoons that overwhelm him. Storms fester in the enclave of his chest and he can only wait for the chaos to ensue. Suffocated, he often feels his lungs have reached capacity.

And then he sees the gentleness of your face, head tucked and asleep on a shared bed, couch, or shoulder. Whatever it may be, he finds himself underneath the surface. Watching you, watching the wave pass above. Quiet and serene; he is one with the water, protected from the storm.

It brings him peace, resonates deep, like your sleepy sigh. Because, it occurs to him at once, you are many things to him.

You are the sun he once forgot the warmth of. The moon that shines for him alone. You are the waves at high tide, half cathartic half consuming. Nature, uprooting his being and cradling his growth.

The fire in his loins and lungs, matching the twin flame that arises from his eyes. The prophet that could save his eternal burning and the pyromaniac that bathes in it.

You are the light through stained glass where he basks in the beauty and warmth of nostalgia. Light that sometimes burns too bright, forcing him to turn away. He still believes his eyes will adjust by then.

Stubborn, a child defying the rules of the world, you are. Yet forgiving, he wipes the heart on your sleeve free of stains.

Tea that scalds on the cusp of the brim; the allure of a shining slot machine lever; the pinch in his mind when you fall ill under his watch. You are work that is priceless, trouble with it's own time -- and he is the sucker who gravitates for more.

Because you are his, with a devotion that rivals his brothers-no-more. You are love, though he already knows this one.

And as the demon of greed, he wanted it all. To experience all and go through the trials that love can offer with you, for you. Despite not being as eager for the ones that could potentially make him writhe from anguish and pain, he wants it all.

To hear every emotion that can possibly be weaved into your voice when you call out his name. Whisper those two syllables against his ear, whine it during the most intimate.

Never once would he have imagined himself being enamored by a gentle rumble, until you.

Because despite his status and image, his fumblings and hasty words, his ploys and boastfulness, at his core, he is yours -- a demon with eyes that only hold such adoration and love for his first, and only, human.

**Author's Note:**

> i genuinely tried to make this pure, tooth-rotting fluff, but i guess my mind wandered and i shoved in some bittersweet elements. maybe angst in my works is inevitable hehe. but it ended on a good, actual fluff note, so that's a first.  
> this was honestly just word vomit i had for the past few days, so sorry if it's all over the place. i wanted to finally send it off into the world before i added more incoherent ramblings.  
> hope ya enjoyed it, thanks for reading :)!
> 
> p.s., forgive me if i happen to add more words in the future, i guess i can't get enough of this guy


End file.
